A Little Tavern Gathering
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: A dwarf, a gnome, and an elf walk into a bar. "Ouch."


**A Little Tavern Gathering**

Grungi Feldspar, Winnie Sparksocket, and Alara Greenmoon walked into a bar. Grungi patted a waitress on the buttocks which earned him a sour look. Winnie looked around with trepidation, being the smallest creature here. Alara, having walked into the tavern, hit her head on a bar above the door, and let out a yell as she rubbed her forehead.

"Stupid thing," she murmured, casting her glance at the iron in question. She ran a hand across it. "What's this for anyway?"

"Indoor plumbing," Grungi grunted. He gestured to a table in the corner, past all the singing drunken fools that called the tavern home. "Come on. Drinks on me."

"Indoor plumbing," Alara murmured, even as she followed the dwarf through the crowd. "Who the heck invented that kind of idea?"

"Oh," said Winnie, her eyes lighting up. "Funny you should ask that. You see, it was one-hundred and thirty-eight years ago, when the inventor Rannis Cuzziefizzle first conceived…" She trailed off, seeing the look in Alara's eyes. "Okay. Never mind. I'll be quiet now."

"You do that," Alara murmured, before likewise following the gnome to the table their dwarf had got for them.

_We met so many years ago, upon a dusty road, _a man sang. _You a humble priest, and me a feeble rogue._

Alara's frown deepened – the man didn't look like a rogue. He looked like a bard. Not that "bards" were any kind of distinction within those who fought for either the Alliance or Horde, but still…

_We were the weakest of the weak. The lowest of the low. But when we fought together, our legend did grow._

The people let out a cheer. And by people, Alara meant the humans. Big humans, short humans, fat humans, skinny humans, drunk humans, singing humans. Now singing about Blackrock Spire and Molten Core. Trying to drown out the song (not easy with ears like hers), she took a seat beside her companions.

"Do you even know what's going on?" Winnie asked.

Grungi let out a grunt. "Some guild trying to relive the good ol' days."

"The what?"

"The good ol' days," the gnome repeated. "Y'know, before the latest war with the Horde, before the Burning Legion, before Draenor…"

"Okay, got it," Alara said.

"…before Pandaria, before the Cataclysm…"

"I said I got it."

"…before Northrend, before Outland, before…"

"I said I got it!"

Grungi gave her a grin. "Just checking."

"Well," Winnie said, as she looked around the tavern, now caught up in song. "They seem to be quite happy about it." She looked back at her companions. "Good ol' days. Heh. If you're going that far back, we'd fit right in, wouldn't we?"

Alara knew that look. It was the look that Winnie got when she had an idea, and couldn't be shut out until she'd pitched it to her companions.

"I mean, think about it," Winnie continued. "They're humans, and you're a dwarf, and you're a night elf, and I'm a gnome. We're like, the big four of the Alliance."

As ridiculous as the assertion was, Alara couldn't contain her smirk. "Not exactly big, Winnie. Not in your case"

Winnie huffed. "I'll have you know that my heart and determination are bigger than-"

Grungi grunted, interrupting the gnome and causing her face to turn as red as her hair. "Good ol' days," he murmured. "Heh, I could go back to them. Back before those damn Dark Irons began stinking everything up with their damn dark beards, and their damnable dastardly deeds, and-"

"That's a lot of dees," Alara murmured.

"Yeah," Winnie added. "And also kinda racist."

Grungi let out a snort. "Ain't racism. Prejudice. Totally different."

Winnie and Alara exchanged a glance – Alara had no idea what Grungi was on about, and given the look in the gnome's eyes, it was clear that Winnie didn't either.

"Anyway," Grungi continued. "Can't go back, no matter what that bard is singing. All we need now is beer."

Alara frowned. "What we actually need is-"

"Wrench!" Grungi yelled, gesturing at the bar maid who was trying to navigate through the brawling patrons. "Three pints!"

"Will you be paying with-"

"Now woman! And none of that cat's piss you call drink, I want real dwarven ale!" He looked back at Alara and grinned. "Service, eh?"

Alara was barely listening. She was instead looking at the bard who'd climbed atop a table and was yelling about going back to vanilla, whatever that was. Maybe a type of gnomish ice-cream?

"Ooh, vanilla," Winnie said, her eyes shining as she lay back in her seat. "I love vanilla. Not as much as caramel, but it's pretty close."

"Fascinating," Alara murmured – the revelation of it being ice-cream had already worn itself out.

"But on the good ol' days," Winnie said. "I mean, wasn't all good. I mean, back before the portal to Outland opened up, Gnomeregan was overrun by troggs still. And the Alliance didn't have a king either."

"Yeah," Grungi grunted. "Now we got one. And the Horde's on its, what, fourth warchief by now?"

Alara subconsciously grasped the hilt of her dagger. Even an indirect mention of the Banshee Queen caused her pain.

"Still, Winnie continued. "Least my home's almost back in my people's hands."

"Not mine," Alara murmured.

Winnie looked at her. So did Grungi for a moment, but only before the maid came over with three tankards. Winnie, for her part, patted Alara's hand.

"We'll get it back," she whispered. "I mean, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next month, maybe not next year, heck, maybe not even next decade, but…" She trailed off, seeing the look in Alara's eyes. "Oh dear. I was talking too much again wasn't I?"

"Yes," Alara grunted, before taking one of the tankards for herself. She sipped it while Grungi downed his like a parched horse at a trough, and Winnie looked at hers cautiously. Not too young for grog, but the gnomish constitution only allowed for so much beer.

"Ah, that's the stuff," Grungi said, putting his empty tankard down. He looked at Winnie. "Hey. Sparksocket. You gonna have that?"

"Well, I was just thinking about-"

"Thanks." Grungi grabbed the tankard and began drinking it.

_It actually isn't too bad, _Alara reflected, taking another sip of her beer before resting it on the table. She cast her gaze around the tavern – at the bard, most of all, who was still singing his song. About going back to good ol' days, and spending forty hours on Ragnaros before wanting more. How anyone could fight for forty hours straight, Alara didn't know, but then, she wasn't a pinksin. She wasn't safe and sound in her homeland. That, more than anything, reminded her of the good ol' days.

"So," Winnie said, breaking Alara's thoughts. "As the one person at this table who isn't currently drinking…"

Grungi let out a burp.

"…might I ask what we're going to do next? I mean, they're calling for volunteers to join the assault on Quel'Thalas, and…"

Alara grunted. "I'm not going there."

"Alara?"

She sipped her beer and glanced at Winnie. "Too many damn elves."

"But…you're an elf. A night elf, but-"

"I'm the original elf," she spat. "None of these blood elves, or void elves, or Highborne, or anything else. Elves, elves, elves – that's all everyone talks about these days."

Grungi grunted. "Dark Irons. Pah. And the Horde's got those damn brownskin orcs with them."

"Okay, seriously, that's racist," Winnie said.

"I mean," Alara continued, "it's bad enough that I've got to look at draenei every other day, and try and remind themselves that they're not eredar. But we've got worgen, and pandaren, and that's not even getting into the filth the Horde calls allies now."

"Am I the only one who finds this racist?" Winnie asked.

"And now?" Alara asked, sipping more of her beer. "Now I've got a bunch of prats yelling about the good ol' days instead of fighting for them."

"But we _can _fight for them," Winnie protested. "Just as soon as we head north to Quel'Thalas and-"

"I'm not going north!" Alara yelled. She rose to her feet and let out a yell as she bumped her head against one of the roof's supporting beams. She rubbed it and sat down, letting out a stream of curses in Darnassian.

"What's she saying?" Grungi asked Winnie.

Winnie, who'd turned very pale, whispered, "you don't want to know."

"Eh, well I know what I do want," Grungi said. "More beer." He got off his seat and headed to the bar tender – the fighting and signing had died down, finally, but Alara's head throbbed all the same. Hitting one's head caused her more pain than listening to admittedly not terrible music.

"My lady? Are you alright?"

Scratch that – music was terrible. Because she was now looking at the bard who'd sung his song.

"Fine," she murmured.

"But my lady," he said, pulling up a seat next to her. "You hit your head. And with one as fair a face as yours, you-"

Alara slammed her dagger down between his fingers, which were resting on the table close to hers. The pinkskin turned into a paleskin and muttered, "I'll just go over there," gesturing to the far corner as he did so.

Alara gave him a simpering smile. "Would you? I would be so grateful."

He nodded and quickly departed, as she sheathed her dagger.

"Wow," Winnie said. "I don't know what's more impressive – that you got him to leave so quickly, or that you got the dagger right between his fingers."

"I missed," Alara said.

"Oh."

The night elf took another sip of the grog. Much as she didn't want to admit it, being back here brought a kind of nostalgia. Just her, Winnie, and Grungi, and humans. She could imagine the "good ol' days quite easily here. After she'd crossed the Great Sea, after she'd met her friends, after they'd banded together, travelling across the world…before the portal opened. Before the Lich King returned. When the world was just the world, and free of one, overriding threat.

"You upset?" Winnie asked.

Alara glanced at a young couple heading up to the rooms, giggling. No doubt ready to sample some indoor plumbing.

"You upset because I mentioned Quel'Thalas?" Winnie asked. Because I remember that you used to be flattered when people were attracted to you, but then blood elves became really visible, and every human who was attracted to you started to be attracted to them instead, to the extent that people called them Horde sympathizers, and-"

Alara got out her knife.

"…or, we could play a nice game of Hearthstone," Winnie stammered. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a board. "How about that, huh? Cards…you…me…stuff…"

Alara sighed, decided not to point out that the game had only exploded in popularity long after the "good ol' days." "As long as no-one's singing about a place, a time, and magic coming alive, sure," she said.

Winnie blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Alara murmured, getting her deck just before Grungi came back to the table. "Absolutely nothing."

"Nothing about what?" Grungi asked.

"Oh, only that as a night elf I'm going to outlive both of you, and find new friends, and have better adventures, and all that," Alara said. "Y'know, that sort of thing."

"Oh." Grungi took a sip of beer. "Nothing important then."

Alara shrugged and began to play. Maybe one couldn't turn back the clock. But one could still choose their friends.

Even if one's breath stank, the other was a terrible Hearthstone player, and that bard was singing about meeting on a dusty road again.

* * *

_A/N_

_So yes, this is based on the "A Toast to 15 Years" add for _World of Warcraft Classic_. Even if I've never played Classic (heck, I've barely played WoW at all), watched it with a smirk. That said, am I the only one who finds it weird that every person there is human? Like, obviously the dwarves, gnomes, and night elves aren't exactly lining up these days (let alone orcs and whatnot), but still, a non-human or two might have helped. Otherwise the Alliance is just being a humans-only club. 0_0_


End file.
